Meteorites

In the familiar texture of this earth Is buried deep the iron dust of stars, Threading the common with celestial stuff, Touching the soil to grandeur. Like the land Are men who spring from her—aware of storms And all disaster, intimate with dusk But hospitable to morning, hushed at last On the dark breast of earth. And yet in man A silver element, a quality More luminous than stars directs his ways To something braver than the world he knows, Sealing his ancient kinship with the skies.